High Stakes
by KenSan1990
Summary: Kaiba is the absolute personification of a gambler, willing to risk anything for the next win. But it's become boring, meangingless. "How much would you risk for a thrill?" Yami asked, when he walked into Kaiba's life, suddenly. He didn't think such a cryptic and alluring man would send his life spiralling out of control, in all the right ways. Casino AU, prideshipping.


High Stakes/ On the River?

A standard poker table weighed close to two hundred pounds. Any sensible man would know better than to try and flip it—but Yami knew that gamblers weren't what he could deem as 'sensible people'.

The entire poker room fell into a quiet din as a rainbow array of ceramic chips flew down and clattered soft, like rain on tile, in the far corner of the room.

The oblong table sat on its side, the rubber railing falling last, hanging just beside a terrified dealer, hands up and palms out. "Floor! Security!" She screeched.

Yami watched as a blond, brutish man wearing an American flag bandanna was rounding the table.

"You sonuvabitch!"

The distance ringing and bell-whistles of a slot machine broke the silence. Hushed murmurs swept through the room. The steady 'clink' of chips began again. Eyes tore away from the scene, back to their respective poker games, ignoring the upturned table, now surrounded by security and two different men in three piece suits.

But Yami's hadn't stalled his stare. His head cocked to the side, solely interested in the chestnut haired man, the other occupant of the overturned table, who had moved just enough—an inch away, and no more—to prevent the table from crushing the toe of his polished dress shoes. As if he was challenging the table to hurt him, and instinct took over.

Yami wouldn't have been surprised. He looked so...bored by the chaos. By the man shouting in his face, held back by two security guards. By the terrified dealer, knelt down on the floor trying to pick up the mess of her well. By the security guards and brushes who were picking up _his_ chips while he didn't help.

"'Ey, Yami," an accented voice asked. "Yami?"

A hand tapped in front of the spiky-haired man sitting at the far end of the table. Yami looked to Joey instead and raised a brow. "I'm sorry?"

"Call or fold," the dealer blandly repeated, and from the look on her face, it hadn't been the first time.

It was strange, Yami thought, as his eyes swept over the room for the third time, how little stopped on the floor after the chaos. The quiet lasted for only three seconds, he couldn't even count his heartbeats, before all the noise began again. Dealers hadn't stopped chucking out cards, pots of chips never stopped being raked up, and players barely batted an eye to the cacophony that, in any other place, would stop all function and leave bystanders rubbernecking.

Such was the way of the people who surrounded him, Yami mused. The sensibly insensible, the regular irregulars, the people who's eyes looked too old and forlorn when their faces seemed to be young and bright.

 _Gamblers are a mess_ , Yami thought, mirthful. _But it takes one to know one._

Yami didn't even consult the community; he hadn't looked at his cards after they had been dealt.

The cards were pushed towards the dealer. "Fold," he announced. Eyes met with Joey's, for the briefest of moments, as the blond smiled widely and called.

Yami turned his attention back to the chestnut haired man, eyes squinting in familiarity, and slouched his shoulders when the man swept around, sunglasses pulled up on top of his head.

Dark blue eyes bore into Yami's, caught staring, but Yami didn't falter. He rested his chin on his hand, grinning, until the blue eyes looked down to the floor by Yami's feet. Looking down, Yami saw that there was a single, purple, over-sized poker chip with '$500' printed out it, sitting by his boot.

Reaching down, Yami plucked up the chip, and displayed it to the man.

 _Yours?_ Yami asked, head tilted.

 _Who else?_ Came a raise of the blue-eyed man's brow.

The blue eyed man turned on his heel, pivoting away from the mess and crossing the room and skirting around he other players who paid little mind to him, though they did stare at clear chip rack tucked in the crook of his elbow, which had many of the oversized, purple chips, along with a mess of orange and black chips as well.

Cards were thrown out to all the players on Yami's table, and he noted that Joey had swept up the pot from the last round.

As expected. They could separate their seats, but never stop them from working together.

Yami's hand palm covered his cards, but he never looked, only thumbed the corners. A round of 'check' came from table, and it was only then did the tri-coloured haired man feel a body lurking behind him.

"You have something of mine," a deep, gravelled voice said.

"Do I?"

The purple chip spun beneath Yami's pointer finger.

"You do."

"Do you want it back?"

"Why else would I be over here?"

A round of betting, and someone in the group was eager on the flop, raising to $25. Four members immediately folded. Yami, without consulting the cards still, flicked the chip out from beneath his finger and watched it roll to the centre pot, landing.

"How dare you?" The blue eyed man hissed. His hand landed on Yami's shoulder.

Joey blanched, and folded his hand. "Yami what the—?"

"Courtesy of my new friend here," said Yami, and he looked up to the blue eyed stranger.

"Ain't no one friends with this jackass," Joey sneered.

Of the rows of curious eyes, there was man across from Yami who began pushing stacks of red and green chips in. "All in."

"That is my money," the blue eyed man said, low. Yami has to lean back in his seat to hear. "You have no idea who you're fucking with right now."

"Do you not trust me?" Yami asked.

"No, you didn't look at your cards."

A wide smile broke over Yami's face. "Just watch."

Yami's cards were flipped over, alongside the other man's, and set out against the flop. The turn came, and then the river.

"Pair of sixes to seat 8," the dealer said, and the pot was moved over to Yami.

The chips were stacked up with delicate speed, and he finally looked back to the blue eyed man, staring him down. He didn't look bored anymore.

The hand on Yami's shoulder tightened, pulling at his shirt. He leaned in, lips to Yami's ear. "Get up from the table. Now."

"My new friend and I need to talk," Yami said. He slid out his chair, the chips collected from the table.

"Yami...if this asshole does anything..." Joey warned.

"I'll be fine, Joey. Thanks," Yami said. "I'm just grabbing a drink. You want anything?"

Joey shook his head, eyes wary on the blue eyed man.

The pair walked out of the poker room, through a quick succession of table games, a roulette ball rattling against the pegs, until they reached an open space, several restaurants built side-by-side. They walked down a set of stairs that led to a long bar.

"So," Yami said, sliding onto the barstool. "Who am I 'fucking with' as you say? Who's money did I just gamble?"

"Kaiba."

"Kaiba?" Yami asked, his head tilting. "As in _the_ Seto Kaiba?"

"Yes, now, for the matter of my chip—"

"This?" The purple chip was plucked out, set on the bar surface, and slid over towards Kaiba, Yami's finger pressing it down. "You can have it back. Just...tell me something first, Seto Kaiba. What did you have more fun doing tonight? Playing alone with that man you just riled up, or watching me carelessly throw your money away?"

"As if that's even a question."

"Oh, but it is," Yami said. He felt the blue eyes regard him, head to toe, questioning every fibre of his being. Sneering at how dressed down he was in a tank top and black jeans, arms covered in leather bangles. Blue eyes squinted when their eyes met, perhaps even questioning the kohl that lined Yami's. "Well?"

"You expect an answer?" Kaiba asked. Yami shrugged. Kaiba's lips twitched, and he looked down to the chip before scoffing. "Fine, whatever, you can keep it if you want it so damn bad. I don't care."

"Strange. You seemed to upset about me having it having it before," Yami said. "Not that you tried very hard to stop me from using it."

"I tried, you didn't listen. You were the one that...that risked all of it so stupidly."

"Mm, you could have tried harder. Called the floor over. So, I wonder: it's not the money that matters that much to you, is it?"

"Of course the money matters it—"

"But you just said I could take this," Yami said, wiggling the chip. "You care, on principle, because it's yours. But not for its value. The money is meaningless. I ask again: which did you have more fun with: your game, or mine?"

Kaiba's teeth grit, lips pulling back, though they flinched closed, staring at the chip under Yami's finger.

"This is ridiculous."

Yami laughed. "Aren't we all a little bit?"

"Your being cryptic."

"It's just a question," Yami said. He could hear Kaiba growling, and the glare he was given could have melted steel. "If you ask me, I'd say it was my game."

"Tch, please. There's was little stake in your game. Twenty-five dollars scared everyone shitless. I would die of boredom in your game."

"If you played normally," said Yami. "But I don't."

"I can tell. Going completely blind and getting someone else's money. It's crazy."

Yami smiled, and the chip was flicked over to Kaiba. "It's thrilling. Isn't that what you're looking for? A thrill?"

"I have enough money to buy a thrill," Kaiba said.

"Do you? Does it buy you the thrill of someone flipping a table on you?" Yami asked. "Did that even register with you? Were you afraid, or were you thinking, perhaps gambling to yourself, on whether or not you were going to get hit?"

"That's not a thrill, that's an ER visit. Why would I want to gamble on a table hitting me?"

Yami shrugged. "You tell me."

"This conversation is going no where," Kaiba said and swept up the chip. "And it's now over. You're boring me."

Yami's head ticked to the side, and he watched as Kaiba stood up from the barstool.

"If you ever want to ease your boredom, you know where to find me," Yami called as Kaiba walked away.

Amidst the twang of slot machines and the sea of voices, Yami could hear the exact moment that Seto Kaiba stopped walking, and he could feel the imperial blue eyes burning into the back of his head.

No, gamblers were not sensible people. And Seto Kaiba, Yami mused, seemed to be the absolute personification of a gambler.

This would be fun.


End file.
